


Under Your Skin

by Semjaza



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Devil Trigger Sex (Devil May Cry), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Light Angst, Post-Devil May Cry 1, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 18:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30026226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semjaza/pseuds/Semjaza
Summary: Trish can see what Dante truly is, no matter how he tries to hide it.
Relationships: Dante/Trish (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18
Collections: Teratophilia Trade 2021





	Under Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neosaiyanangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neosaiyanangel/gifts).



> For neosaiyanangel, Teratophilia Trade 2021 flash exchange. Thank you for the fun tag prompts! Rated E for safety (it's not that explicit), but probably more of an M, for monsterfucking. :)

Trish picked her way over the pile of demon corpses, her smirk revealing teeth just slightly too sharp to be human. A breeze carried her scent to him, blood and leather and gunpowder, and Dante had to turn aside and shake his head to clear it.

“I think we’re done here,” Trish said, eyes bright. She stepped close to Dante with no regard for his personal space and leaned against him like a lazy, possessive cat.

“Yeah,” Dante agreed. He let himself rest against her, just for a moment. “Let’s try the next warehouse.”

Trish grinned in response, her smile dazzlingly beautiful, and when she walked away Dante followed after her as though she had him on a leash. They’d been together for three months now, working out of Dante’s office, and he thought it might be making him crazy. He was constantly aware of her, a devil in his space, a crackle of power that stalked gracefully from room to room. She asked him questions that he couldn’t answer, and sometimes offered information that cut right through him. He was never quite sure if she meant to hurt him or not. He wasn’t quite sure if he cared.

“I can feel you thinking, you know,” Trish offered, not bothering to turn around and face him. She kicked open the doors to the warehouse and strolled inside, an apex predator unconcerned with whatever small resistance her prey might conjure. If Dante didn’t know better, he’d think killing demons bored her. She’d been made to hunt much more dangerous quarry.

“Yeah,” Dante said again, feeling stupid. He flicked a glance to each corner of the warehouse, letting his senses reach out and explore. “There’s nothing in here.”

“I know,” said Trish, in an unsurprised tone that meant she’d recognized this, possibly before she’d opened the door. She stepped back into his space again, too close, smelling warm and delicious. She put a hand on Dante’s shoulder and walked him backwards, her smile bright and nonchalant and predatory. Dante let her push him back, until she had him cornered up against the far wall.

“So, why are we still here?” he managed, far too aware of Trish to ask the more important questions.

Trish gazed up at him, unconcerned, guileless. “Why don’t you transform anymore?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you transform? I can see your true form sometimes, under your skin, waiting. Why do you hide it?”

“I don’t... I’m not hiding it.” Dante frowned at her. “This is my true form.” He gestured at himself. He didn’t ask, _why are you bringing this up now?_ because Trish didn’t care about timing or context or whether something was appropriate to do or not. 

Trish tilted her head, puzzled. She looked doubtful, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t say, _show me_ , because she didn’t have to. She and Dante had been around each other long enough for that, at least.

Dante took a deep breath and held it a moment. As he exhaled, he released his devil trigger, the rush of power arcing through him, changing his features, enclosing him in scaled armor. His trigger turned all of his senses up to eleven, giving him a hyper awareness of everything around him. He looked at Trish and saw her power, could hear her heartbeat, blood moving through her veins. It was overwhelming, and he couldn’t tell her how intense it was, everything coming at him all at once, blunted only by the knowledge that he could take so much more punishment in this form, could walk away from wounds that would’ve staggered him otherwise. There was more sensory input that he could ever hope to process, combined with a dark and nasty awareness that he didn’t need to process it, not really: he could run off instinct and kill anything that moved, ruthless and unforgiving. He looked at Trish and wanted to rip her throat out.

Trish reached up to touch his face, unconcerned. Her fingertips traced over scales and horn, deft and gentle. Her touch felt like static, like walking through a field in a thunderstorm, waiting for the lightning strike.

“There you are,” she said, lips quirking thoughtfully. She didn’t smell afraid of him, but then of course _she_ wouldn’t be. Her hands cupped his face, studying him, pleased with what she saw. “You shouldn’t hide this.”

Dante couldn’t answer, couldn’t gather his thoughts enough to string them into words. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t understand that everyone would fear him if he showed them this, and that he had to care about that. He had to care enough to not make humans afraid, and that the caring was the important part, more than the humans or their fear. Trish’s fingers pressed against his mouth, and he opened it to her, locking down on the part of his brain that wanted to bite. She dragged her thumb over his incisors, enough to split her flesh open, enough for him to get a taste of her.

“Trish,” he managed to say, a deep rasping growl that rumbled through his chest. He licked blood off her fingers, and she sighed and leaned in close. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, pressing against him. Her skin was somehow warmer than he was, the way lightning was hotter than lava, and she shed her clothing with the softest pulse of demonic power.

“You’re not someone else when you’re like this, Dante,” Trish said, guiding his hands to her breasts, encouraging him to touch her.

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to have someone in this form, all jagged scales and bristling ridges, but Trish pulled him down until he was on his knees in front of her. She sighed and stepped forward when he dropped his head to her thighs, seeking between them with his tongue. Trish was wet already, smelling better than anything, almost purring as Dante worked his long, demonic tongue into her. Her hands stroked his head, tracing each crest, keeping him where she wanted him. She sank her fingers into his spines and rocked her hips, and Dante closed his eyes and did his best to please her.

He wanted to please her, more than anything, and when she stiffened and moaned his name he felt a wave of satisfaction at her pleasure. He slid his tongue out of her, fumbling to touch her, startled when she placed herself in his lap.

“You worry too much about this, Dante,” she said, and he disagreed but couldn’t get the words out. _I used this to kill him_ , he wanted to say, and reached for her instead.

She was still looking at him, still smiling, hands exploring. She pressed her soft breasts against his chest, shifting her weight, and he hastened to accommodate her. His claws snagged on her skin despite his best efforts, but Trish didn’t seem to notice or care. She sank down onto him with a pleased gasp, and it was all he could do to stay still. He didn’t ask her, _why are you doing this?_ because Trish only ever did what she wanted, only ever followed her own whims, and never explained herself.

He didn’t understand her, not in ways that he could articulate, but that didn’t mean they weren’t physically compatible. She’d been made just to torment him, after all.

Trish moved against him, unhurried, pleasing herself, making him wait with a glance here, a touch there. He stayed still, clawed hands on her waist, supporting her even though she didn’t need him for balance, sustained by her own inhuman strength. She watched him, half-lidded eyes glittering in the dark, her smirk a challenge. At last, he couldn’t stand it any longer, pushing her down onto her back and fucking into her harder. Trish laughed and arched under him, and he couldn’t help but feel that she’d been waiting for this, for the moment he gave in and pinned her down and had her.

“There you are,” she said again, reaching around him, hanging on. Her thighs gripped his waist, her soft flesh rubbed raw on his scales. They rocked together on the cold warehouse floor, Trish being as loud as she wanted, not caring if every demon in the city heard her. She didn’t let go, not even when Dante forgot himself and bit her, blood spilling between them. Trish didn’t care, she just laughed and clenched around him hard and screamed her pleasure. He could feel the rush of power emanating from her as he followed her over the edge, lost in a haze of blood and desire.

Later, Dante watched as Trish willed her clothing back into existence, holding the taste of her in his mouth. He was still sitting on the warehouse floor, his back against the wall, trying to gather his thoughts enough to say something.

“I’m not that,” he said, finally. He ran his tongue over his teeth, blunt now, and human.

Trish grinned. She walked over to him, hips swaying, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Yes, you are.” And he knew she meant, _so am I._

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this ship was a learning experience for me, haha. Feedback is appreciated!


End file.
